


When a Child Goes to War

by eternalvampriss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apathetic Harry, Dark Harry, Ginny Bashing, Goblet of Fire AU, Good Dark Side, Hermione Granger Bashing, Independent Harry, Manipulative Dumbledore, Molly Weasley Bashing, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Ron Weasley Bashing, mentions of past non-con/rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalvampriss/pseuds/eternalvampriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life has always been hell for Harry. Now, after getting through the maze in the third task, he finds himself injured and tied to a tombstone of all things. Just before the disgusting rat of a traitor begins to resurrect his master, Harry has an epiphany that has the potential to not only save his life, but make it so much better.</p><p>The Wizarding World better watch out. The Boy Savior has had enough of their bullshit and he will get revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Child Goes to War

**Author's Note:**

> My first story in this fandom. Pairings are as of yet undecided and rating may go up.
> 
> Also, I greatly dislike Ginny, Ron is an idiot and horrible friend, and Hermione is damn annoying at times. Don't even get me started on Dumbledouche.

He was dead.

Harry was dead; he was tied to a damn grave and Pettigrew was about you use him to revive the bloody Dark Lord. He knew, he just knew, that some sort of bullshit was going to happen during this bloody tournament as soon as Dumbledore didn’t help him get out of it. Just another “test” for the Boy-Who-Couldn’t-Catch-A-Break. Just his damn luck.

The teen watched as the rat man began preparing for the ritual while the nasty baby thing old Voldie was currently (possessing?) occupying squirmed with impatience. The great ruddy snake was making slow circles around the giant cauldron. The Wizarding World really isn’t worth it, Harry thought to himself. Really, they could all burn for all I care. Suddenly, the green eyed savior had an epiphany. The magic world wasn’t worth all his suffering. Honestly they’ve been just as bad as the muggles, just in another capacity. Harry noticed that Wormtail was about to begin and realized he had to act quickly.

“Wait, wait, WAIT!” the teen urged. Peter paused out of reflex.

“What, boy?” the Voldemort baby hissed angrily. “Your fate is sealed, there’s little you could say that would save you now.”

The teen gulped, praying to whatever gods there were, and pushed the stinging burn in his head to the back of his head as best he could. Hopefully this would work. And if he had to sell his soul to this demon? Well, it seemed better than the painful life he lived now.

“Ok, so,” Harry began. “I honestly have no idea how this ritual works, but I can tell you’re about to use me in some unwilling way.” The boy paused and swallowed again. “Now, I’m not the most knowledgeable about this stuff, but don’t things like this work better if it’s offered willingly?”

The graveyard was silent for a few tense moments, only the sound of Nagini on the cold ground breaking the quiet. Finally, after Harry started to think he made a monumental mistake, Voldemort responded. “Yesss,” he hissed. “The ritual would be stronger with willing blood. Are you honestly volunteering, Potter? Willing to help revive me, are you?”

Blood. They wanted blood? Harry could do that easy. He was use to losing blood after all. He gave a jerky nod. “I was actually hoping that offer you gave me first year was still open,” he said cheekily with a shaky smirk.

Voldemort hummed noncommittally. “And how do I know this is not a trick?” the Dark Lord questioned. “For what reason would the ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ help me?”

Harry snorted at the title. “I’m no savior,” he said scathingly. “As for a reason; my life sucks arse, Dumblefuck is a manipulative old bastard, and the Wizarding World can go fuck itself with its face admiration and fickle opinions. Who the hell relies on a child to save the world?”

“Reasonably,” the Dark Lord mused. “But still, this could be some sort of deception.”

Harry heaved a sigh as he frantically tried to think of a way to prove his honesty. “I swear on my magic,” he spewed. “I swear on my magic this is not a trick or deception. I honestly wish to help you, join you even, if you have a use for a pathetically average 14 year old.”

More tense silence ensued. Harry began to sweat nervously and tried to shift subtly to dislodge the stone stabbing him in the back. His bitten ankle hurt something fierce.

“Release him, Wormtail,” Voldie-baby finally commanded. The teen jerked when the balding man squeaked, having forgot the man was there. “Potter, approach the cauldron.”

Once freed, the young champion stretched his back and tried to rub sensation back into his numbed arms. He sneered as he passed the sniveling rat and made his way to the large smoking pot. Pettigrew walked around the other side, carrying his master who was informing him of the necessary changes to the original ritual. Harry watched as he lowered the temporary body of his former enemy and wondered how crazy he had to be to actually believe helping Voldemort would help him.

Harry was drawn out of his musings by Pettigrew cutting his hand off. By reflex perfected by Quittage, he caught the falling limb as it was falling to the ground and quickly tossed it into the cauldron once he realized what he was holding. Pettigrew gave him a slight shaky nod of acknowledgement before passing over a silver dagger. “Blood of the ally willfully given, you shall aid your former foe,” the man intoned. Harry took that as his cue and sliced his palm with the blade, squeezing his hand to help the blood run freely. Once he was given the signal to stop, Harry looked around to find and summon his wand, and preformed a simple healing charm he learned for the tournament to heal the laceration.

Having missed the end of what Pettigrew was saying, Harry was surprised by a flash of bright light from the cauldron and ended up falling backwards onto the ground and covering his eyes. Once the light died down, the teen watched as a human hand grabbed the edge of the smoking cauldron, followed by another. The hands heaved up the rest of a tall body, difficult to make out in the dark with readjusting eyes. The one thing harry was clearly able to make out were glowing red eyes. “Robe me,” a deep smooth voice commanded, sending Wormtail into motion. The rat assisted his master with his one hand and immediately fell back onto his knees to continue sobbing over his stump of an arm.

Harry sat up and crossed his legs, wincing as the injured one moved, as he watched the figure of the Dark Lord Voldemort climb out of the half melted hunk of metal.

“Hello, Potter,” Voldemort said with a smirk.

“Hi,” the teen said back dumbly. Now that he could see again, Harry found that the older wizard’s new body looked like an older Tom Riddle (maybe 30-ish?) from the diary he had stolen away in his trunk, unknown to anyone. The man was sinfully handsome with wavy brown hair, high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, sinuous lips and broad shoulders. Not that Harry noticed. Nope, not at all. The red eyes somehow added to the overall aura and feel to the man’s appearance instead of making it terrifying. Unfortunately the new look didn’t take away from the burning pain that renewed with more vigor in Harry’s head that he was trying to push aside. The teen scrunched his eyes shut and moaned lowly in pain, unconsciously swaying from side to side.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the display. The boy would do him little good if he was in constant pain in his mere presence. “What ails you child?” the wizard questioned.

Harry swallowed back nausea before answering. “My head feels like there’s a chisel in my brain and someone’s doing their damnedest to hammer their way through it.”

Voldemort hummed and narrowed his eyes further, focusing on the lightening scar on the dark haired teen’s face. Could it be? He demanded his wand from Pettigrew, who whimpered as he obeyed, and waved it in some complicated pattern, pointed at Harry’s head, while muttering under his breath. Harry noticed none of this as his eyes were still closed against the pain. Voldemort clicked his tongue in annoyance as the scar glowed red. He muttered another spell and the pain melted away from the boy’s face.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, raising a hand to rub at his scar gently. “Thank you,” he said softly before looking back up at the newly revived Dark Lord. “So, now what?”

“Now,” Voldemort replied, smirk back on his face, “we discuss what is to happen between us before I send you back to school and the old fool.” Harry bit his lip and lowered his head to stare at his hands in his lap. He knew he was at the mercy of the older man and knew better than to anger him. “There is a prophecy that says you have the power to vanquish me.”

Harry’s head snapped up. He was stunned. “Seriously?” he said incredulous. “That’s what all this is about?”

Voldemort nodded his head to the side in acknowledgement of how ridiculous it sounded. He, himself, had never put much stock in things like Divination. “Admittedly, I may have been overhasty. Especially since I only knew the first half.”

Harry snorted loudly at that statement. He froze, realizing just who he was speaking with, and tensed waiting for pain. Thankfully (confusingly) it didn’t come. “Yes, it is a bit ridiculous,” the older said with a mall quirk of an eyebrow and a slight roll of the eyes. It was such a human action that it threw harry for a moment. He was so used to thinking of this man as a monster. “So, what to do with little Harry Potter?” Voldemort mused, tapping a finger against his mouth.

“Whatever you want, really,” said teen answered with a shrug. “You could lock me up somewhere so I’m not in the way. Or, if you want some sort of use out of me, you could pass me around the Death Eaters as a whore or something,” the boy mused.

If he wasn’t so in control of himself, the Dark Lord would have choked on air. As it was, his entire body froze for a moment from shock, surprise, and a creeping anger that was beginning to rise. Eventually, he jerked his head to the side. “What?!” Voldemort hissed with a hint of incredulousness.

The boy shrugged noncommittally. “I was just thinking of thing I’m good at. The only things I could really come up with were house work and sex.”

“Potter,” the older wizard began lowly, “what is your home life like?” His answer was a snort as the boy looked away. The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed in growing anger. “Hmm. Yes, well, it’s time to get you back to the school and the old man.”

“What ‘bout him?” Harry inquired, pointing a thumb at the balding wizard moaning in pain.

“Wormtail!” the man bellowed. The wizard cam crawling over to the two, face covered in tears and snot from crying and pale from blood loss. Voldemort regarded him coolly and Harry sneered at the blubbering mess. “Give me your arm.” Pettigrew raised his handless arm that was still bleeding sluggishly. His lord cast a spell to cauterize the wound, causing the man to scream in pain. Then Voldemort conjured something that looked like liquid silver that formed a hand and attached itself to Pettigrew’s wrist. The rat started thanking the dark wizard profusely over and over until he was finally told to shut up.

“Come,” Voldemort instructed Harry, leaving the pathetic man on the ground. The teen stood up carefully, tested his damaged leg with his weight, grimaced, and limped after the Dark Lord. He suddenly had a thought about how it was a good thing that he hadn’t taken the trophy with Diggory after all as Voldemort flicked his wand to summon the discarded TriWizard Cup.

Harry looked at the golden cup and sighed. “Do I have to go back?” he asked without looking up, sounding resigned. The older wizard saw that his brow was furrowed and his gaze was far away.

“Do you now want to?” the Dark Lord asked, sounding amused but his eyes were calculating, thinking of various courses of action and their possible consequences. The younger wizard gave him a blank look. “Tell me, Harry,” the man drawled in a vaguely patronizing tone, “what do you expect to happen once you return?”

The teen gave a heavy sigh and looked away. “A lot of acting, for one. I’ll be called up to Dumbledouche’s office, without being healed even a little, and be told to spill the entire traumatizing event. Then the old man will send me off to the Hospital Wing with a proverbial pat on the head and a benign smile. After the term ends, I’ll be shipped off to the muggles, be told to be a good little boy, and be forgotten by everyone while my beloved relative beat me, starve me, lock me up, work me to exhaustion, and give me to the occasional sick fuck who gets off on hurting underage boys so that I can ‘earn my keep’.” Harry said all of this in an unwavering monotone with an absolute certainty that surprised the Dark Lord.

Voldemort stood silently. Harry was content to let him be, lost in his own thoughts. “Right,” the older man said decisively. “You’re not going back.”

Harry’s eyes shot up to look at the man, just stopping himself from uttering something stupid. “If I’m not going back, then where am I supposed to go?” he asked, voice laced with the smallest hint of hope. “If I could I’d rent a flat somewhere, but no one’s gonna rent to a kid.”

“For now, you’ll have to stay with me at Riddle Manor,” the Dark Lord mused, absent mindedly gesturing towards a large dark shape downhill from the cemetery they were standing in. he stared at the would-be child savior with a calculating eye. Voldemort noticed the boy shift nervously and try to hide a wince when his weight shifted to his left foot. “You’re injured,” he stated.

The boy looked to the side and shrugged. “Got bit by an acromantula. Would’ve been fine if the hedges weren’t trying to eat me, but at least I killed it.”

Voldemort sighed and shot a non-verbal spell at the teen that wrapped and splinted the bloody ankle. “Come here. I need to call my followers, so I’m going to disillusion you.”

“Disillusion?”

“A charm that will camouflage you with the surroundings. Think of a chameleon.”

Harry nodded and limped closer with a small amount of hesitation and weariness. He blinked when Voldemort wracked his head with his wand and shivered as he felt like something cold was oozing down his spine. Harry looked down at his hands to see that it seemed as if the ground below him was sliding across his skin as he turned his hands over. “Interesting,” he mused. Voldemort lifted an eyebrow in an expression that could be described at amused. Maybe. Possibly. You know; if a Dark Lord could be amused by the reactions of an ignorant teenager. Weird.

Voldemort pointed to the shaded area of a nearby tree. “Sit there and keep quiet. It’ll be better if none of my men knew of your presence, so try to behave.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to confuse the minions,” Harry nodded with mock seriousness before limping off to the side.

Voldemort started to clean up the ritual area with a few flicks of his Yew wand. While he was distracted by that, Nagini slowly slithered up to the boy.

_§ Smells like blood. Smells like master. Smells like hatchling. Hatchling is injured. Must protect hatchling for master. §_

_§ Not a hatchling, §_ Harry hissed indignantly.

 _§ Not fully grown, still a hatchling, §_ the giant snake hissed like a scolding mother. Harry huffed in annoyance at being patronized by a snake of all things. Nagini hissed out a laugh as the young one pouted. _§ Snakeling speaker will grow. But until then, small speaker is a hatchling. §_ She wrapped Harry up in her coils, resting her head in his lap. The young man began to absent mindedly stroke her scales with a lightly calloused hand and hummed to himself thoughtfully.

 _§ You’re pushy for a snake, §_ Harry mused. Nagini gave what was the equivalent of a hum and a shrug before settling down more around the boy, relaxing into the petting but still aware enough of their surroundings to be able to provide protection if needed.

Oblivious to the bonding between his familiar and his…new ward, he supposed that was what Potter was now; the Dark Lord Voldemort finished cleaning up the ritual sight and lit up a large fire. He transfigured the simple black robe he was wearing into something a bit more elegant, before commanding the still sniveling Pettigrew to his side. “You’re arm, Wormtail,” he intoned. The pathetic rat of a man rolled up his left sleeve to present his mark to his master. Voldemort studied the mark for a minute, taking in the inflamed skin and how it seemed as if something was shifting under the skin as the branded snake slithered around and through the charred skull. He raised his wand and jabbed it non-too gently into the tattoo causing the fat man to call out a shout of pain. It was time to summon his followers; what was left of them anyway.

As the clearing between the headstones was echoing with various pops and cracks of apparition, Voldemort began listing various tasks that needed to be completed in his head. There were things he needed to do to ensure the bout of sanity he was experiencing became permanent. He now realized the folly he’d preformed in his youth. He also had to figure out how to go about changing how he fought this “war”, which he could only do if he managed to keep his mind clear. There was also the situation with the boy now in his possession and what was contained in his scar. He felt a headache forming as he pulled himself out of his thoughts when everyone who intended to answer the summons was there.

From the spot in the shadows the Dark Lord’s red eyes scanned everyone present. Having memorized everyone’s personalized masks long ago, he knew exactly who had answered his call. There were few notable absences, but time changed people, he knew, and hopefully those few that were useful would return once he began implementing his changes in regime.

Having had enjoyed watching his gathered fidget with nervousness and tension, he decided enough was enough. “Welcome my faithful,” Voldemort spoke as he stepped out from the shadows and into the firelight. Many of the masked men started in surprise at his sudden appearance, causing the man to smirk. “It has been many years since I’ve stood before you,” he continued, centering himself in the half circle his followers had formed. He made sure to stand directly in from of where he knew Potter sat, as an extra precaution to keep the boy hidden.

The gathered Death Eaters watched their revived lord with awe and trepidation; both amazed by the man’s appearance and fearful of what punishments would be dished out by the end of the night. No one questioned if this man was indeed the Dark Lord. Powerful waves of magic rolled off the seemingly young man and resonated with the mark branded on their arms.

“My Lord!” one masked man called out, stepping forward and collapsing onto his knees in an ungraceful show of submission. “Please, we wish to know, how has this miracle occurred?”

Voldemort looked down at the man with a slight rise of a brow and a calculating stare. The man gulped at having those blood red eyes focused on him. “Hmm, I suppose I can share some of the story with you,” the Dark Lord mused. “I must admit that my previous downfall was partially my own fault. I rushed off in fear because of faulty half-information. Though, in my defense, I had dabbled in the Darkest of Arts in my youth without fully comprehending what I was doing to myself. I was far from sane near the end, as I know many of you had noted to yourselves but wisely kept quiet about.” There was a nervous twitch throughout the crowd as people flinched at the accurate accusation.

“But no matter, I am now taking steps to repair the damage done to my mind.” He paused here, letting his eyes rove over everyone before him. “As for what happened in ’81 at Godric’s Hollow; I went to the cottage owned by the Potters intent on laying the entire family low. James Potter was easily felled, an Avada and he was gone. I followed the Lady Potter up the stairs into the nursery of young Harry. I had given the woman a chance to step aside, to save herself if only she gave up the child. She refused and magic accepted her death as a blood sacrifice that caused my spell cast at the toddler to rebound and decimate my body. So you see; it was nothing the Potter boy did that momentarily vanquished me, but Blood Magic cast by his mother.

“As for how I survived; some precautions I had taken held true, I drifted bodiless through the forests of Albania for many years, possessed a weak minded fool and snuck into Hogwarts three years ago. When that plan failed I had to wait another two years, when Pettigrew came to me out of fear after being ousted from his rat hole.

“Some more planning, a ritual constructed from scratch and some unexpected assistance later and I stand her before you now.”

Sitting under this tree, harry listened with just as much rapped attention as the Death Eaters. Sure it was a pretty vague recounting of events, but coupled with the memories that were dragged to the surface by the Dementors last year, he could pictured the entire night clearly in his mind. Sensing his distress, Nagini tightened her hold on the boy, causing harry to look down upon the snake with a small bit f affection and resumes stroking the scales behind her head. Lost in his thoughts, the teen was barely aware of his new guardian speaking of his missing numbers, how he intended to change the way they were going to operate, and that they were all meant to lie low for now.

“As for Potter,” Voldemort said, causing Harry to snap back to the present. “The boy is a nonissue. Doubtless you will hear reports of him missing or dead in tomorrow’s paper. Bay it no mind. I have plans for the boy already in motion, and I will not have them ruined by over eager grunts. Understood?” There were murmuring of “Yes, my Lord,” and Voldemort nodded in satisfaction. “Spread the word, my followers,” he commanded. “But do so quietly. We don’t want to be found out before it is time. Or else there shall be repercussions.” With that he dismissed the lot of them, save Pettigrew, and turned to drop the spells on the teenager. An eyebrow rose at the sight of a bleary eyed Potter (the night obviously having had taken its toll on the boy) wrapped up in his familiar, who seemed to be mothering the boy.

Nagini uncoiled herself from the black haired boy and slithered to her human. _§Master, snakeling needs rest. Take him to the nest, §_ the snake demanded as she rested curled around his abdomen and across his shoulders.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. _§Snakeling? §_ he hissed.

Nagini gave a nod. _§ Hatchling smells like Master, so Snakeling is Master’s. Master will take care of small speaker. §_

The wizard hummed as he watched said boy as he carefully climbed to his feet, avoiding putting weight on the injured one, and attempted to shake himself more awake. “Come, Potter,” the older wizard instructed. “I have a potion for your ankle and then bed, I think. We’ll discuss thing more tomorrow.” Harry nodded and hobbled his way after the taller man down the hill.

Once inside, Voldemort summoned a vial from somewhere deeper in the house and handed it to the boy before adding him to the wards to prevent headaches later. He watched with concealed amusement as Harry eyed the green liquid wearily. It looked like potions used in the Hospital Wing, and it smelled like it as well. With a grimace and a shrug, he downed the vial with a shudder. Yep, same stuff. He was handed another vial “For the venom” and forced that down as well. His ankle felt a bit better and some of the dizziness left him, and he sighed with relief.

“You’ll take another healing potion and maybe a dose of anti-venom in the morning and one last healing potion in the evening,” Voldemort informed him, almost daring him to complain. Harry just nodded in acquiesce. Voldemort gave a sharp nod in return. “Now come, I’ll show you to the room you’ll be using during your stay. I will be locking you in, as a precaution you understand.”

Harry sighed at that bit of news but didn’t argue. He was used to it anyway. Up two staircases and down a long hallway, the two stopped in front of a nondescript brown door. Voldemort held out his hand toward the boy. “Give me your wand.” Harry was hesitant to hand over his only source of defense against his sort-of-kind-of-ex-enemy, but, realizing he had no choice, did so with reluctance. To his surprise, the older man merely ran his own wand over the piece of Holly before returning it. “I’ve taken off the trace,” he informed him. “Can’t have you hiding here only to be found out because of automated ministry functions, can we?” With that the wizard opened the door and led the way into the bedroom.

 

It was a large and well appointed, if dusty, room. Definitely larger than any space he occupied at the Dursley’s. There was a queen sized sleigh bed made of a dark wood with cream colored bed clothes. A wardrobe, dresser, bookcase, and desk made of the same wood were placed around the room. Two windows were draped with rich brown fabric that matched the carpet by the bed and off to the side was an open door that showed an en suite bathroom. Al in all, to Harry, it was the vary peak of luxury. “Wow,” he said softly in appreciation.

Voldemort looked at him curiously, but from what little he gathered about the treatment the Boy Savior was used to, he figured he had never seen, let alone was allowed to have, something of this caliber. “We’ll have to see about getting you some clothes, of course,” the Dark Lord commented.

A considering look crossed the boy’s face as he bit his lower lip. Seemingly coming to a conclusion, the boy called out “Dobby!” which was shortly followed by a loud crack and the appearance of a bug-eyed house elf. “Harry Potter sir!” the thing cried out in exuberance. “Dobby was being so worried about you, sir! You not be coming back out of the maze forever and ever and everybody bees getting scared and—“

“Dobby. Dobby!” harry interrupted. Once the little creature quieted down he was able to do what he needed. “Dobby, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. But I need you to swear to me, Dobby, that you won’t tell anyone, in any shape or form, where I am, who I’m with, or even if I’m alive or not. Can you do that for me, Dobby? It’s very important to me that no one knows.”

The house-elf started nodding emphatically. “I bees understanding Harry Potter, sir. Dobby bees understanding even if I be not agreeing with it, sir. Dobby swears to be telling no one about Harry Potter, sir. Dobby swears.”

Harry sighed in relief. “Thank you Dobby. Now, I need you to do something for me. I need you to get all my things from Hogwarts and bring them to me here, Hedwig too, if you can. If she refuses to come along magically, tell her to come find me. She’s a smart bird, she’ll find me anywhere.”

“I be doing that Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby agreed easily, being happy to be of help. “But won’t peoples be wondering where Harry Potter sir’s trunk bees going?”

Harry smirked. “Easy, make something look like my trunk. It doesn’t even have to open since I keep mine locked with parcel magic anyway.”

“Yes Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said with a nod, and with a loud crack he was gone.

“Interesting elf you’ve got there,” Voldemort commented, causing Harry to jump. He’d forgotten the man was there.

“Yeah, well,” Harry said with a small smirk while sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “I kind of tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing him, and now he worships the ground I walk on,” he continued with a shrug.

“You out Malfoy-ed a Malfoy?” the Dark Lord asked with amusement clear in his voice.

“Yeah, guess I did,” Harry replied with a smile. “Malfoy-Major has hated me ever since.”

A loud crack announced Dobby’s return with Harry’s trunk and a disgruntled looking Hedwig. “Here be Harry Potter sir’s things. Is Dobby be doing anything else, sir?”

“Thank you, Dobby. That’s fine,” Harry answered. Then with a shrug he added, “Unless you’d like to clean the room up a bit, there’s nothing much else.”

The house-elf’s face broke into a large grin. “I can be doing that, sir!” Dobby said, ears flapping. He set right to it, starting with the bed before banishing the rest of the dust around the room and moving onto the bath.

Voldemort watched all of this with a raised eyebrow. Harry mused that this was the man’s favorite expression and that his face might get stuck like that. Realizing his thoughts were getting delirious, Harry decided it really was time for bed. “Right,” the older wizard said, pulling the teen out of his thoughts. “I’ll leave you to rest. We’ll talk more later.” With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry sighed as he sat on the bed, wondering how much crazier his life could get. He threw his upper body back, relishing how he sank into the soft sheets and mattress. Dobby appeared next to him to inform him that he was returning to the school. Finally alone, Harry kicked off the boot on his uninjured leg, unwrapped, carefully took the boot off, and rewrapped his injured leg, and shucked off his champion’s robes before crawling into the most comfortable bed he had ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. He’d think about how utterly impossible of his life is when he was more coherent.


End file.
